Chapter 3: What My Attorney Found
I kept my eyes on Genevieve and read the message from the corner of my vision.
*Call me immediately.
Do not sign anything.
Do not let her leave the property.*
My attorney's name was Conrad Hale.
He had represented my family's interests for eleven years.
He did not send messages like that.
"I need to make a call," I said.
"Of course you do." Genevieve moved toward the kitchen doorway, blocking it without appearing to.
"But Dorian, before you speak to anyone — I want you to think about what you actually heard.
A private conversation.
Frustration.
Nothing more."
"You poured milk over Yasmin's head while she was holding my sons."
"I lost my temper."
"You threatened to have her arrested for touching your shoulder."
"I was upset."
"You said you were going to send Everett and Nico to boarding school in Switzerland."
The smile finally broke.
Just at the edges.
"I said that in anger.
You know I love those boys."
Yasmin was still in the corner of the kitchen.
She had set both twins gently on the floor against the cabinet, keeping herself between them and the broken glass.
Everett was pulling at her sleeve.
Nico was watching Genevieve with the focused, uncertain expression of a child who has learned to track a sound he doesn't understand.
"Yasmin," I said.
"Take the boys upstairs, please."
Genevieve turned.
"She stays."
"She goes," I said.
"Now."
Something in my voice settled it.
Yasmin gathered both boys against her chest and moved past Genevieve without looking at her.
Genevieve let her pass, but her jaw tightened as they left the room.
I called Conrad the moment I heard the upstairs door close.
He answered before the second ring.
"Where are you?"
"Home.
Kitchen.
She's standing in front of me."
"Can she hear this call?"
"Probably."
"Then listen more than you speak." A pause.
"Three days ago, a document was submitted to the Atherton County Recorder's Office.
It was a petition to modify the beneficiary structure of the Mallory Ashcombe Memorial Trust — the one that holds the boys' inheritance.
The petition named you as the submitting party."
My hand tightened on the phone.
"I didn't submit anything."
"I know you didn't.
Your signature was on it.
But the notarization timestamp was a Tuesday afternoon.
You were in Singapore."
Genevieve was watching me.
Her arms were folded now, her expression unreadable.
"What did the petition request?" I asked.
"It requested that a co-trustee be added with equal authority over distributions.
The named co-trustee was Genevieve Sutter."
The kitchen was very quiet.
Outside, a car passed on the road.
Somewhere upstairs, one of the boys laughed at something Yasmin said.
"How far did it get?" I said.
"It was flagged by the recorder's clerk because the trust instrument requires dual-attorney sign-off for any structural modification.
She didn't know that.
Whoever helped her didn't know it either, or didn't think we'd catch it in time."
I looked at Genevieve.
She hadn't moved.
But her eyes had dropped to the floor — just briefly — and come back up.
"Conrad," I said.
"Who helped her?"
A pause.
"That's what I'm still working on.
But Dorian — this wasn't a first attempt.
There was an earlier inquiry, six weeks ago, from a paralegal at a firm I don't recognize.
They requested a copy of the full trust instrument.
Someone gave it to them."
Six weeks ago.
The same week Genevieve had started asking questions about estate planning over dinner.
The same week she had called it "just curiosity."
"I'll call you back," I said, and lowered the phone.
Genevieve spoke first.
"Whatever Conrad told you, there's an explanation."
"I'm sure there is," I said.
"I'd like to hear it."
"I was trying to protect the boys." Her voice was steady.
Practiced.
"If something happened to you, Dorian — if you were in an accident, or incapacitated — someone needed legal authority to act quickly for Everett and Nico.
I was going to be their stepmother.
I was trying to be responsible."
"You forged my signature."
"I used a signature I had on file from a letter you gave me—"
"To add yourself as co-trustee of a trust worth sixty-four million dollars."
The number landed in the room like something dropped from a height.
Genevieve's chin came up.
Her composure held, but the calculation behind her eyes shifted — recalibrating, searching for the next angle.
"You never told me the trust was worth that much," she said.
"No," I said.
"I didn't."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she unfolded her arms and picked up her phone from the counter.
"I think we both need time to calm down before we say things we can't take back.
I'm going to call my sister."
"You're not leaving this house until Conrad gets here."
Her hand stopped over the phone screen.
"You can't keep me here, Dorian."
"I'm not keeping you anywhere.
I'm asking you to stay." I set my own phone on the counter between us.
"But if you walk out that door before my attorney arrives, I'll know exactly what that means."
She looked at the phone.
Then at me.
Then at the door.
She sat down at the kitchen table.
But before she did, she typed something on her phone — fast, just a few words — and turned the screen face-down.
I didn't ask who she had messaged.
May you like
I didn't need to yet.
Conrad would find that too.
